


in these deep solitudes and awful cells

by hippopotamus



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Break Up, reuploaded but completed this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 03:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippopotamus/pseuds/hippopotamus
Summary: it ends badly. so badly that they both wish they could forget about it.they meet again a few weeks later, and it’s hard to remember why it had to end.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello i uploaded this a few months ago and then got halfway through it and had a breakdown so i deleted it bUT here it is back and completed and i promise not to take it down again  
> the first part is the stuff that was already uploaded (although the last bit of it was maybe only up for like a day) and it hasnt changed much or maybe at all so feel free to skip on over to part 2 which is all new baby  
> anyways enjoy

**December 9th, 2019**

 

The bench is old, with slats missing from the back as if someone has snapped them off deliberately, forcefully, angrily. 

Years and years of graffiti and carvings from rebellion fuelled teenagers line the remaining parts of the bench, names and dates and hearts, all sorts, but the one Isak is drawn to is the one where it’s been broken. He can make out a carving of the letter “A” and another line just before the snap that could say anything. 

Why does the letter “A” seem so important? And, when he traces his finger over the dip in the wood, so familiar?

“You don’t look like a high school student,” a voice says from behind him, causing him to retract his hand as if he’s been burnt, spinning around to face a stranger with a question in the raise of his eyebrow.

Isak clears his throat. “Ah, uh, yeah, I don’t go here. Used to.”

“What a coincidence,” says the stranger. “So did I.”

Isak nods, and attempts a smile. “Nice.”

The stranger grins back, then flops down onto the bench that Isak has been staring at for several minutes now. “So, what brings you here, at,” he checks his phone. “21:19 on the 9th of december?”

Isak bites his lip. Shrugs one shoulder, then both. Looks down at the floor, then finally meets the stranger’s eyes. 

_ Kind _ , he thinks.  _ Kind eyes. _ He takes a breath, then sits beside the stranger, although he makes sure not to touch him.

“I have no fucking clue,” he sighs. “Seemed like a good idea. Weird impulse.” 

He’s not an impulsive person. Almost everything he does is calculated, careful. This… wasn’t. He was on his way home. Then he was on the wrong tram. And then he was here.

He clears his throat again. “What brings you here at 21:19 on the 9th of december?”

“It’s not 21:19 anymore.” 

Isak’s eyebrows flick upwards in surprise. “Well, uh, yeah. Well, then, whatever time it is, I guess.”

The stranger takes out his phone again. “21:21,” he says, but doesn’t answer Isak’s question. Instead, he smiles. “I’ve always liked it when the numbers match up. Always seems like a sign. 21:21 especially, for some reason.”

“That’s when I was born.” The words surprise Isak himself. Something about the stranger makes him want to tell him things. Makes him want to learn things. “21st June, 21:21,” he continues, despite himself.

He meets the strangers gaze, only to find that his smile is kind, too. 

“Maybe you’re a sign.”

Isak finds himself smiling back, then lets it fade. “I don’t really believe in signs.”

“No?”

Isak shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s how the universe works.”

The stranger seems to consider it, for a moment, and Isak imagines telling him about the universe. He can see it so clearly, hear his own voice talking about the infinity of everything, see the wonder on the stranger’s face as he asks him what he means. He imagines it like a memory, and then wonders why.

“What about that sign?” The stranger asks, pointing to the sign across the courtyard that reads “Hartvig Nissen School.”

Isak rolls his eyes as if the stranger is an old friend teasing him.

“What sign?” he jokes, and the stranger’s laugh is a sound that puts light back into his heart.

His heart’s been dark and heavy for a while, now. He doesn’t know quite why.

*

“Should I ask your name before I ask you if you want to smoke?” asks the stranger, pulling a joint from behind his ear.

“I don’t think you _ have _ to,” Isak replies.  _ Please do, though. I want to tell you everything. _ The thought surprises him, but he doesn’t push it away. Simply agrees with it. Lets it stay a while.

“Okay,” says the stranger. “What about after I ask?”

Isak tries to keep his expression neutral. “But you haven’t asked, yet.”

“I’m about to.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and Isak’s impatience gets the better of him. “Isak,” he says. “I’m Isak.”

“Isak,” the stranger echoes, then seems to drift off, deep in thought. A frown - the first Isak has seen from him settles on his face.It’s the first time Isak has seen anything less than happiness filter through to the strangers face, and he wishes with all his heart that he could take it away - he wants him to be happy again. Wants to bring back the kindness and the smile. Wants to see that part of him again. 

“Do I get to know your name?” Isak smiles to encourage the stranger to do the same, but there’s only silence in response. Maybe the answer is no.

“Even,” says the stranger - says Even, after quiet that feels stretched to breaking point.

Isak nods to acknowledge that he’s heard, and the corner of Even’s mouth twitches upwards. “Smoke?” he asks, and Isak replies with a grin. 

*

“So when exactly did you go here?” Even asks him. “I can’t believe I wouldn’t have noticed you, if we’d been here at the same time.”

“Uh,” Isak says, thankful that the sky is dark enough to hide the pink in his cheeks. “Started in 2015. Graduated last year, I think.” 

“Just think?”

Isak laughs self consciously. “Yeah, I - I must have missed the ceremony. Think I missed most of my last year. And second year.” God, second year. Had he even been here at all?

Even’s eyebrows flick upwards. “Model student, then?”

“Yeah.” Isak frowns, trying to remember anything of his second year. All he gets are snatches of biology lessons with Sana. Tiny glimpses of a forced relationship with a first year. The whole torturous week in which she outed him, and then nothing again. 

Third year is a little easier - but still there are huge parts missing. He gets lost in his thoughts for a moment, then shivers and shakes to pull himself out. Why does it matter so much anyway? It was just school.

He redirects the conversation to Even. “When did you go here?”

Even is looking at him strangely, as if he can’t quite understand what he’s seeing. “Same time as you,” he says. “Just for a year, though. 2016, 2017.”

There’s silence for a while longer, each of them looking away, lost in thoughts.

“I don’t remember much of it either, although I at least have an excuse for that.”

Isak gives a questioning hum that’s met with no response, and senses he won’t get one. They sit quiet for a few minutes, Even holding the end of the joint that’s long since finished, when Isak finally stands.

“I should get going,” he says. “Thanks for - this.”

Even looks up at him, watches him for a moment. Isak imagines he might be committing him to memory, just as Isak is as he watches back. A slow, tentative smile spreads across Even’s face.

“I’ll see you around, then, Isak.”

“Yeah,” Isak replies. “I hope so.”

*

They meet again on the tram, fifteen minutes after Isak leaves the bench. Even reaches the tram just as it’s about to close the doors, when Isak is already settled in a seat halfway back, watching Even run and smiling to himself, happier than he thought he’d be to see Even - though he’s barely more than a stranger - again.

Isak ducks his head as Even glances over to him, and keeps it down as he senses Even walk over to him, flopping down into the seat facing Isak, slightly out of breath, but when Isak glances up, he’s still smiling that same wide, kind smile.

“Hi,” Isak says, uncharacteristically shy but still returning the smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Even teases. 

Isak doesn’t even try to hide how happy he is. He’s glad to see Even again. There’s something about him. He’s about to reply, try and make some subtle comment about never getting Even’s number, when Even gets distracted by his phone ringing.

Isak looks back down at his hands twisted in his lap while Even answers the call. He tries not to eavesdrop, really he does, but it’s difficult when Even’s phone is so loud.

“ _ Yo, Even, my man, do you have a key? _ ” Whoever’s calling Even is excitable. Full of energy. Probably not entirely sober, although Isak is just speculating.

“Uh, no, I left it at home,” Even says. “You said you’d still be there.”

The guy on the phone gives a worried sound. “ _ Ah, yeah, about that… _ ”

Even sighs. “Are you kidding?” 

“ _ ‘Fraid not, man. You can come to the party with us, though! _ ”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood. I’ll just find somewhere to hang until you get back. Maybe Yousef.”

“ _ Uh…” _ the voice hesitates.

“He’s going too, isn’t he?”

“ _ Yeah. _ ”

Even sighs. “Don’t worry. I’ll find something to do.”

“ _ Just come to the party! _ ”

“I won’t know anyone there apart from Sana, Mikael, we’ve been through this. And you won’t either.”

“ _ I mean, Jonas is going. _ ”

“Who’s Jonas?” 

_ My best friend _ , Isak answers in his head, then realises there’s no way it’s the same Jonas. There’s hundreds of thousands of people in this city.

“ _ He’s, uh, he’s my friend _ ,” replies Mikael.

“You can’t know him that well if I don’t know him,” Even reasons, and Mikael seems to find it difficult to stutter out a reply to this.

“ _ Uh, um, yeah, but, uh, he’s hot, so.. _ .”

“You don’t know him though!”

Mikael’s voice falters again. “ _ Uh, yeah, I know that. I’m still going. _ ”

Isak glances up to see Even roll his eyes. “See you later, Mik,” he puts the phone down and sighs, tipping his head back and then looking out of the window.

It takes Isak a minute to reach a decision, but he realises he won’t let this go so easily - this strange connection he feels with Even. So he speaks.

“Do you want to get a beer or something?”

He sees happiness spread across Even’s face even before he turns towards him and their eyes meet again, and Even considers him for a moment. “My phone is pretty loud, huh?”

“Just a bit, yeah,” smiles Isak. 

Even seems to be happier than his smile can contain as he looks back at Isak, then finally, he swallows, and speaks. 

“Beer sounds - really good, actually. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

The bar is closed. Monday nights have never been good for nights out, and the one Isak thinks to take Even to closes at ten on mondays. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, embarrassment filtering through to his voice. “I thought it would be open, shit.”

“Hey,” Even places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can find somewhere else?”

Isak nods. Thinks for a moment. Takes the plunge. “My place is a two minute walk away. I have beer there.”

Even doesn’t hesitate before agreeing, even when Isak adds to his invitation. 

“I mean, my place is tiny, and messy, and ugly as shit - but-“

“I’d love to,” Even grins. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

Neither of them finish their beers. Even comments on the empty wall with the ripped down posters, and Isak kisses him to stop him pointing out the flaws of the apartment. 

*

It doesn’t end like that. Even rolls onto his side when he has his composure back, and leans over Isak, using a finger tip to trace over his body. 

“I know this was fast,” he murmurs, “but that doesn’t mean this has to be it, right?”

“I hope not,” smiles Isak. “I know how to make pancakes, now.”

“Now? As opposed to when?”

Isak thinks for a moment. “I get sleepy after sex,” he reasons, both to Even and himself, and pulls Even down to cuddle him to sleep. “Stay?”

His eyes are already closed when he hears Even grin. “You offered pancakes. Of course I’m staying.”

*

**December 6th, 2019.**

It’s a cold Friday morning when Isak wakes up with a headache, and no recollection of the night before. 

He doesn’t even remember going out for a drink, or opening any of his bottles at home. Barely even remembers getting home, in fact. He was on the tram, and the next thing he knows he’s here.

The apartment feels empty, emptier than usual. The shelves and surfaces are unusually bare. There are coat hooks on the back of the door with no coats on them. The walls white but covered in patches, as if Isak had ripped down posters and pictures and drawings - but he never put any up in the first place when he moved in. He’d been tired of those ridiculous memes he’d printed out and stuck up at the kollektiv, especially tired of the photo of the underdressed woman as an effort to make people believe he was straight.

But why is he only noticing this now? He’s lived here for two years. Perhaps finding out what he did last night will be a start.

**To Jonas:** _ hey, did we go out last night? i don’t remember shit x _

Jonas replies straight away, and Isak doesn’t want to overthink it, but he comes off a little snappy in his message. Isak must have really fucked up, which he suppose is unsurprising, considering how much he must have drank to forget everything.

**From Jonas:** _ i’m coming over.  _

Yeah, it must be bad. Jonas arrives like a whirlwind, spitting mad and ranting about some guy. 

“How could you, Isak? How could you possibly think this was a good idea? Just because  _ he  _ did it?”

He’s making no sense. Who did what?

“I tried to get you out of it, but they wouldn’t fucking let me, even when you clearly fucking changed your mind. Why couldn’t you have waited, Isak?  I mean, fucking hell - you could have waited. You could have-”

Isak stares at Jonas, as if the longer he stares the more sense it will make - but to no avail, and as Jonas keeps talking without making any sense, Isak has to interrupt.

“Jonas, I - I’m tired, I have a headache, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jonas seems to deflate a little. “Of course you don’t. Of course you fucking don’t,” he spits. “God, you - you just-”

He can’t seem to continue. Isak pulls him into a hug, tries to calm him, but Jonas’s whole body shakes with grief.  Isak can’t handle the thought of doing this to his friend.

“I’m sorry, Jonas, I’m so fucking sorry,” he repeats it over and over, but it seems to have no effect.

“He was so fucking important,” Jonas mutters, and Isak thinks maybe he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Who was?” he asks anyway.

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t know him.”

*

**December 2nd, 2019**

The last time he sees Even, Isak’s walking down the street on his way to Sana’s house, and Even and his friends are outside. Sana had promised him they wouldn’t be, that they’d be long gone by the time Isak came over, but here they are. 

And he’s struck with the desire to talk to Even - to ask if they could try again, if maybe they just misunderstood what they needed, when all along what they needed was each other. What Isak needed was Even. 

He walks closer, hesitating with each step, breathing heavier and heavier as he gets closer. His hands start to shake, and he stuffs them in his pockets to pretend that they aren’t. They aren’t shaking. He’s fine. He can pretend he hasn’t seen Even, duck into Sana’s doorway and ring the bell, keep his voice low enough that Even won’t even hear that he’s there.

It’s Elias who sees him first, in the end, and his eyes go wide with recognition as he slams his arm into Yousef next to him, who turns and sees, and almost comically has the same reaction. 

Elias mutters something, too quiet for Isak to hear from the distance he’s at, but Yousef nods, turns, and throws his arm across Even’s shoulders, who is still facing away from him. 

He starts to pull Even away, further down the street as Isak gets closer, but as Isak is at the door, almost inside, almost free, Even turns. Looks Isak up and down. Eyes blank. 

“What’s the problem, Yousef?” he asks, confusion apparent on his face. “What’s up with this guy?”

Isak is only saved by Sana letting him in, and he almost runs inside, and slams the door behind him with his face flushed with humiliation. 

Upstairs, Sana waits for him, nervous anticipation written on her face.

“Are you okay?”

He’s breathless with anger, ready to explode, and he does. 

“How could he? How fucking could he?”

That’s the start of it. But once he’s said one thing, it’s impossible to stop. Sana says his name every few sentences, seems to be trying to calm him, but he can’t stop until he’s got the whole fucking story out, and the anger is fading with the end of it.

“-But pretending not to know who I am, that’s a new fucking low.”

“Isak!” Sana finally manages to cut him off. “Isak, I’m sorry,” she continues when she has his attention. “He’s not pretending.”

“What the fuck do you mean, he’s not pretending?” The anger comes back, though this time it’s a mask of confusion. 

Sana sighs, as if she wishes she didn’t have to say anything, then reaches into her desk, and pulls out a yellow card. “I’m not meant to show you this,” she says. “I mean, really I’m not, but I think you should know.”

She holds out the card, and Isak doesn’t think he wants to know anymore.

_ Miss Sana Bakkoush _ __   
**_Even Bech Næsheim_ ** _ has had  _ **_Isak Valtersen_ ** _ erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.  _ __   
_ Thank you _ _   
_ __ Lacuna, Inc. 

“We tried to talk him out of it, or, Elias did, but by the time we could get in touch with him he’d - he’d already had it done.”

Frozen. That’s how Isak feels. He can’t look away from the card in his hand, but he doesn’t - he doesn’t understand it, however long he looks at it. It must be a joke. It must be. It  _ must _ be.

“Isak-” 

“I have to go,” he snaps into action. “I have to - I have to-”

“Isak, you’re too upset. I know you’re going to do something irrational and I’m not going to let you.”

She reaches out to take the card from him, but he pulls his arm back. “No, I - I need it. I need it.”

“Isak, sit down,” Sana pleads with him as he starts to pace the room, frantically twisting his hands together as he racks his brain for a rational explanation.

“It’s not even - how did he even - how is it possible? It’s got to be illegal, why the fuck would he-”

“Isak-”

But his mind won’t stop, and his mouth runs with it, speaking non stop, faster and faster, making less and less sense with every word. None of it makes sense.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t.

He looks at the card again.

_ Lacuna, Inc. _

Even forgot about him. Even doesn’t know he exists. Even doesn’t remember him. 

He did this. He chose this. 

Well, fuck. Maybe Isak should choose this, too.

*

**December 4th, 2019**

_ Lacuna, Inc. _

He makes an appointment. Just to talk to them. He swears it’s just to talk to them.

The first thing the doctor does is apologise. “You shouldn’t have seen this card, we ask people to keep them confidential, to avoid a situation like this. Do you intend to take any action following this?”

Isak doesn’t know what action he could take. He just wants answers.

“Why did he do it?” He asks the doctor, sitting forward in his chair because he needs him to know that he’s serious about this. “Why did he want to forget me?”

Of course, he has his suspicions about why. But he needs to know for sure, because - he just needs to know. He needs to know because he thought he knew Even, but his Even would never do this. Never. Even would never.

Isak just needs answers.

“I’m afraid that to tell you that would be a breach of confidentiality,” is the reply, and Isak slumps back with a sigh. “I can only tell you that our job here is to help patients who feel that a memory is too painful, or detrimental to their life continuing in a normal fashion.”

Did Even really think that of him? That Isak was holding him back, somehow? Hurting him?

It’s too much to think about. Even is too much to think about. The fact that it makes sense is too much to think about.

“And it’s safe?” he asks, instead of dwelling on all that. He still wants to know that Even is okay.

“Fully clinically tested, yes.”

“So why isn’t it legal?”

He’s done his research. There’s no official record of  _ Lacuna, Inc. _ , nor the doctors registered here. Any information related to memory wiping technology is far out of date, all testing discontinued because the technology would never be used.

His question seems to floor the doctor. “It’s - there are some ethical concerns relating to the act of memory erasure. Whether it impacts someone’s… emotional growth,” the doctor moves on quickly from this. “Here at Lacuna we believe that decision should be up to the client.”

Isak was just here to talk. To ask them about Even, and then leave. 

“We have support nurses, if you need it,” the doctor tells him. “We can help you come to terms with being erased.”

Never mind that. He doesn’t intend to come to terms with it.

*

“The first step is to bring forward the memories we need to erase,” says the doctor, pressing start on the recorder in front of him. “Could you tell us why you’re here? Who or what it is you want to forget?”

Deep breath. In. Out. Can Isak say his name? Has he said it out loud since it ended?

“I want to forget-” he breathes in again. “I want to forget Even. My ex.”

They broke up - Even left six weeks ago. Six weeks that Isak has had to come to terms with it really being over, and yet saying those words out loud, calling Even his ex - it feels like that’s it. This is where it really ends. The point of no return - although Even has long since reached that.

The doctor hums in acknowledgement. “And can you tell me why? What it is that makes you want to erase him?” The doctor is cold. Emotionless. Isak suspects he’s done this enough times, been around enough people who want to forget something painful, that their distress just doesn’t phase him anymore. 

Desensitised. That’s how Isak wants to be.

“He did it first.” Isak hears himself sound like a petulant child, and he hates it. “I mean - I can’t go around knowing who he is and knowing that he doesn’t know me. We’re bound to see each other again and I just - I don’t want to feel like - I don’t want to feel anything when I look at him. Because he doesn’t feel anything when he looks at me.”

“Can you tell me a little about Even?” 

Even is impulsive. Fun. Exciting. Even is warmth, and love, and kindness.

“Even is-” the words catch in his throat. 

Even isn’t his anymore. Isak lost him because he didn’t show him enough that he needed him. That they needed each other.

“Just tell me how you met,” the doctor amends, and Isak hears the impatience, and keeps his response short. 

“We met at school three years ago. He transferred in third year while I was in second, and we got together. Moved in together after a few months. We broke up six weeks ago and he - he decided to forget me.”

*

The next step is to gather everything from his apartment that reminds him of Even.

They could get rid of the last five words of that sentence. It would mean the same thing.

But he does as he’s told, collecting everything with strong memories. All the pictures from his wall, the newspaper clipping that reads “ALT ER LOVE” and the drawings Even did for him when they first got together - the ones he kept drawing for Isak, until everything started to go wrong. All the shirts in his wardrobe that originally belonged to Even, and that grey hoodie that Even used to steal all the time. The snapback that he left at Even’s house the first time he ever went there - or maybe he should give that back to Jonas.

He’s back at Lacuna first thing the next day, sitting in the waiting room with a box of stuff that reminds him of Even, its weight heavy in his arms. 

“We’ll be with you in five minutes,” one of the doctors says, and retreats into the consultation room. 

Isak is the only person in the waiting room this early in the day, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The box prevents him from jumping his leg up and down like he always does when he’s nervous, and he needs something to occupy him. 

His hands move without his mind’s consent, pulling at the corner of the piece of paper that’s sticking out from underneath the hoodie at the top of the box.

_ Hi Even. Thanks for the drawing. It was nice. When did you actually manage to put it in my jacket? _

His heart drops, reading his own words. Remembering the beginning. 

_ At the same time in a completely different universe. _

Maybe there’s another Isak and Even out there who got it right. 

_ Glad you liked it. Put it there when you had PE. Miss you. _

Maybe there’s an Even out there who still remembers Isak. Who’s going to text Isak right now, and ask if they can meet up, talk through everything. Make amends.

He looks at his phone, hoping beyond reason, and his heart jumps when he sees message notifications, and then quickly sinks again.

**_Sana_** _\- 3 iMessages_ _  
_ ** _Jonas_** _\- 4 iMessages_ _  
_ ** _Jonas_** _-_ _6 missed calls_ _  
_ ** _Sana_** __\- 3 missed calls

There’s no point reading the messages. He knows what they say, and he knows he’s going to ignore them.

So he won’t. He won’t unlock his phone, or read his messages, or answer the calls. 

He’s going to forget Even. He wants this. 

He wants this. He does. 

Maybe he’s not ready. 

His thumb twitches to the home button, and he starts to input his passcode.

_ 1 2 0 2 1 9 9- _

“Isak Valtersen?” the doctor calls from the doorway. 

It’s probably a sign. He’s ready to forget Even - he  _ needs _ to forget Even.

*

“We’ll use these items to create a map of Even in your brain,” the doctor explains, lifting everything out of the box one by one. “Once we have that map, we’ll set an algorithm that’s tailored to your memory pathway to degrade the core of the memories of Even. It’s simple enough work, we carry out the procedure overnight in the comfort of your own home, so you won’t feel any confusion when you wake up the next morning. You’ll have forgotten Even, and us, and our work will be done.”

Isak swallows, and nods. Every time the doctor says Even it feels like a punch in the gut - well, at least after tomorrow that won’t be a problem any more. 

“What we’ll do is show you the items one by one, and you focus on the memories that come to mind when you see them.”

They’re pushing him inside an MRI scanner before he even has chance to say anything - but then, it’s better this way. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. 

They pull him out two hours later, and his cheeks are wet with tears that he hastily wipes away. He wants to ask if he can keep the hoodie, at least. It’s warm, and soft, and it smells like Even. It’s comforting. 

But then, it’ll just be another hoodie in a couple of days. What’s the point?

*

**December 5th, 2019**

Sleeping pills. 

He’s been there before - several times since Even left, in fact. A couple with water, every few nights when it gets hard to breathe and harder to calm his mind. 

This is the last time he’ll need them. 

The ones sent by Lacuna are different to the ones he normally uses. Bigger. Darker coloured. Intimidating, if it were possible. 

He looks out the window, and sees the van parked there, two men inside just sitting, waiting, and it’s nearing 8pm. 

Water. Pills. Bed. 

Nothing. 

*

He’s caught up in memories, drowning in them. It starts from the end. 

Visiting Lacuna, agreeing to the procedure, clearing out his apartment. He relives it all in vivid detail, then watches it splinter away into darkness. He lets himself forget that he ever went there. 

He forgets visiting Sana two days ago. He forgets finding out that Even erased him. He forgets seeing him outside her house, face blank, laughing confusedly. 

_ What’s up with this guy?  _ echoes around as if it had been shouted into a cavern. 

The ground falls away, the building falls away. The card clutched in Isak’s hand lingers. 

_ Miss Sana Bakkoush _ __   
**_Even Bech Næsheim_ ** _ has had  _ **_Isak Valtersen_ ** _ erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.  _ __   
_ Thank you _ _   
_ __ Lacuna, Inc. 

The card falls away too. 

Isak forgets. 

*

The unanswered texts, the missed calls, all the times he tried to find Even in the six weeks after they ended it, all of them flash in front of him before he forgets.

_ I miss you _

_ I’m so so sorry. So fucking sorry. _

_ I didn’t mean for it to happen like that _

_ I promise it wasn’t because of you. I’ve never felt like i had to look after you or that you were too much work. I just got caught up with stuff with my parents and I didn’t want to drag you into it. _

_ And of course now is when I realise how stupid the whole thing was. I should have talked to you. I need you. _

_ I need to see you. I miss you. Can we talk about this? _

**_Dialed_ ** _ \- Even - Call rejected _

**_Mikael:_ ** _ Give him space. _

**_Jonas:_ ** _ He’ll come round. Give it time <3 _

**_Sana:_ ** _ Just because you’re heartbroken doesn’t mean we don’t have studying to do. _

**_Sana:_ ** _ I’ll talk to Elias.  _

**_Magnus:_ ** _ everyone fucks up sometimes, bro. he’s probably pretty down right now, but i’m sure you can talk when he’s feeling better.  _

**_Mahdi:_ ** _ you down for a smoke? take your mind off things? _

**_Isak:_ ** _ not right now. thanks though. _

**_Dialed_ ** _ \- Even - Call rejected _

_ Call rejected _

_ Call rejected _

_ Call rejected. _

*

Isak relives what he’d rather not. He finds himself in memories of the day that it ended, and his only comfort is that what comes next is forgetting.

He’ll forget the guilt and the shame. He’ll forget how he pushed Even away for weeks, ignored him, and only tried to pull him back at the last possible moment, only tried to pull him back when it was too late. He was so focussed on himself, his own problems, his own stress, and he didn’t notice Even slipping away from him, turning to comfort in something that he promised he would never go near. 

Isak doesn’t blame Even, though. He blames himself. Making himself forget this isn’t going to change the fact that it was his fault, and he didn’t realise it until Even was gone.

Even stumbles through the door, out of his mind on something more than alcohol. Isak can’t process it - couldn’t then, can’t now - and he relives the memory word for word. 

“What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Ev?” It’s half anger, half despair, and Even hasn’t said one word but Isak is already close to tears. He stands and rushes to catch Even as he nearly falls onto the table, and helps him down slowly. “You promised you wouldn’t. You fucking promised.”

Even lowers his head down into his arms and murmurs “stop fucking controlling me. You’re worse than  _ she _ was.”

Even only ever hates Sonja when he’s like this. Isak wonders if Even hates him when he’s like this, too. 

Scratch that, Isak knows Even hates him when he’s like this.

“I don’t know why the fuck I came back here,” Even says, confirming what Isak knew. “You always have to fucking look after me like I’m a kid.”

He wanted so badly,  _ god, _ so badly not to be that person. Not to let Even feel smothered by his love, by the way he wants to keep him safe. To make him understand that he can make his own decisions, that he’ll support him through everything.

But he’s already tired, and stressed, and he can’t do anything right. He just fucking snaps.

“God, fucking leave then! Find somewhere else to stay tonight but don’t fucking blame me if you go to your parents and they act the same as me!”

“I’m not going there,” Even sneers, and it’s cruel, his voice stings like salt in a wound. “I know you think I can’t look after myself but do you think i’m fucking stupid too?”

Isak can barely fight the urge to agree.  _ Yes. Yes I fucking do. Why else would you get like this?  _

“I - you just-” he’s so frustrated that the words won’t even come out, they get stuck in his throat and he simply stands, hands curled into fists as he tries so desperately to breathe.

But he looks up, and he sees the way Even looks at him, hatred in his eyes where there should be love. Isak’s shoulders slump as he remembers the way Even used to look at him. “I just want you to be okay,” Isak whispers.  _ I just want you to see me like that again. I still see you like that, I swear. _ “I just - I want-”

Too little, too late.

“Do you?” Even says, pushing himself up from the chair. “Or do you just want me to be fucking easy to look after?”

“No, Even, I - I’m sorry, I-”

“Save it,” Even dismisses him, walking back out of the room before Isak can stop him. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

_ Tonight _ . Isak had said find somewhere else to stay  _ tonight _ . 

It occurs to him, as the door slams, that Even means forever.

The echo of the door fades, and Isak is alone in his apartment, in his head, waiting, willing for himself to forget, his eyes tight shut to protect him somehow. 

When he opens his eyes, the apartment is dissolving before him, and he lets the memory go.

*

But he goes after Even. Of course he does, neither of them are thinking clearly. They’ll work it out like they always do, they both just need to be somewhere safe, somewhere where they can just wait this out, and then talk through it. Isak will hold Even until it’s okay again, and Even will try to apologise but Isak won’t let him.  _ It’s okay, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. _

It gets bad sometimes - it gets really bad - but what makes it so bad when it’s bad is also the reason it’s so good when it’s good. It’s worth it. Even is worth it.

Even should be right around the corner - he will be right around the corner, Isak knows he will, because he’s lived this already - and then he remembers he’s lived this already and it didn’t go like he expected it to. He did too little, too late, and then it was over. 

Even is around the corner, and he’s lighting up a joint, and then he tells Isak to leave him alone. Says it’s not worth the trouble any more. He wears Isak down and down and down until Isak believes it himself. Isak believes maybe they’re better off apart. 

He doesn’t want to live through that again. Even as the world breaks apart beneath his feet, he hangs back. Stays around the corner from Even, doesn’t let himself look at him.

He stands on nothingness, an empty street with no streetlights, no cars, and only the building that conceals Even from his view. All he can hear is Even shouting at him, Even convincing him that they’re both better off alone. All he can think about is how little it took for himself to believe it.

Even stops talking, and the building crumbles where Isak is leaning his head back against it, and waiting for it all to fall.

*

After they ended it, Isak had just walked. Walked as fast and as far as he could, paying no mind to where he would end up. 

He follows those footsteps again, and ends up at Nissen. At the bench where it all started, the bench where he promised to be there for Even. 

He’s angry, even at the memory. He’s angry because he couldn’t keep a simple promise. He’s angry because they carved “ALT ER LOVE” into the bench on Even’s last day of school, and it’s still there, taunting him, so visible, even in the dark. 

He’s angry enough that his foot goes through the back of the bench a minute later. He lets out a cry of despair as the wood breaks apart, and then all that’s left of their carving is the letter A. 

Lights flicker on across the street in response to the noise Isak had made, and he runs away, back home, hoping that Even will be there to calm him.

When he enters the apartment, Even’s things are gone, and the world shatters once more. 

*

On the morning Isak knew for sure that it would soon be over, the world outside their apartment was so foggy that he couldn’t see across the street. 

It’s Even’s favourite weather. Isak knows that because he’s in love with him. And - isn’t that the problem? Isak is still in love with Even, and he doesn’t know how to be in love. 

But it’s Even’s favourite weather, and that should mean Even will be in a good mood. 

Isak remembers that that’s not how the memory goes before Even walks into the kitchen with a frown. He knows this memory, and it’s just another screwed up mess in a whole long string of failures.

He remembers thinking he could still get it back, get them back, if he just knew where to start. So that’s where he goes back to - the start. 

“Hey,” he tries to smile. “What are we doing on monday?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Even’s eyes that he tries to pretend isn’t there with a shrug. “What’s happening on monday?”

The memory isn’t even collapsing yet, but  _ what’s happening on monday _ are words that have rung around in his head countless times since they were first spoken two months ago, and his heart feels like it’s collapsing when he hears them again. 

He still doesn’t know why he tried to explain it to Even - why he had to say it out loud and hurt them both more, but that’s what he did, and what he does now.

“It’s - it’s three years since we first met. At kosegruppa.”

He tries to smile, and when he meets Even’s eyes sees something there - sadness, nostalgia, he doesn’t know. Even turns away quickly anyway, and Isak has no more hints as to what he’s feeling.

“We’re not doing anything,” Even replies, where Isak wants to hear  _ it’s a surprise _ .  _ It’s a surprise, baby, just you wait and see.  _ But that’s another memory, from even further back. Back when it was good.

“We should, though,” Isak tries. “We should do something, I don’t know.” 

Cracks appear along the walls, across the ceiling and floor, and on the cupboards behind Even’s head. Isak feels the weight in his chest release him from its grasp, and he welcomes the relief that comes with forgetting. 

Maybe he’ll forget fast enough that he won’t have to hear Even’s next words over the sound of walls breaking down - but he does hear. One last time before it all disappears.

“Isn’t the whole having an anniversary of every tiny thing getting a bit ridiculous? I mean, we could just stick to one date. 27th of October. Done.”

_ 28th.  _ Isak still tries to correct in his head.  _ You know it’s the 28th.  _

He knows they don’t get that far anyway. And he forgets that, too.

*

He goes back to september, when he can feel Even pushing back. Pushing Isak away like Isak had been pushing him away. 

A weak attempt to finally reach out finds Isak in the kitchen, making pancakes - trying to make pancakes like Even used to try and teach him, only he never leaves them to cook for long enough, and they end up an undercooked mess in the bottom of the pan. 

Even walks in a minute later, and the kiss he gives Isak is from obligation, rather than love.

He laughs weakly. “You have to leave them longer, Isak. Or do you just like undercooked pancakes?”

Isak gives a  _ tch _ , and flips the pancake over, sighing when it falls apart. “At least I’m trying,” he says.

Even doesn’t reply. Isak remembers thinking  _ this is where you take the pan, and teach me to do it properly. _

Instead, all he hears is the sound of the cupboard opening, and Even reaching for the cereal.

“So - you don’t want a pancake?” Isak tries to joke, but it comes out flat.

Even looks like he wants to say something back, something important, maybe something that will help them get back to where they should be. 

He doesn’t speak. He just shrugs, and the world falls away like sand.

*

Further back, to the memory Isak regrets most of all. 

At the time, he’d been deeper inside his own head than he is now, reliving all of this. 

He’s been ignoring the world around him and most of all, ignoring Even. Everything feels pointless. He’s stupid for reacting the way that he is to something so tiny as his parents getting a divorce. Anyone who has eyes could see it coming from a mile off - they haven’t lived together for nearly five years, and they never got on while they did. 

And Isak doesn’t care anyway. He shouldn’t care. It doesn’t affect him.

He doesn’t need to talk to Even about it, he just needs to get over it.

But what he doesn’t realise is that maybe Even needs to talk to him. 

Reliving this memory makes Isak see everything that he had missed. He could fix it, now. He knows what he could do right, what he could do better. If he could go back and do it again-

If.

He sits at the little table in his room, hunched over his laptop and textbooks, and tries to pretend that the world doesn’t exist.

Even stays in bed.

Even stays in bed for three days and Isak does nothing. Nothing but throw himself into studying and guilt and studying and panic and studying and  _ what can I do anyway? _

He’s forgotten how to be there for Even. 

But this time around he forgets forgetting, so he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. 

*

He goes further backwards. There’s a common theme in the memories - that Isak knows he should talk to Even, and Even knows it, too. Every so often he’ll reach out, ask Isak if he’s okay.

Isak never answers him. Not really. 

_ Just stress, _ he says. _ Too many assignments. I’ll be done soon. I’ll come to bed soon.  _

He never does, but he forgets that too.

*

When it happens, when his dad first texts him, he knows he should turn to Even for comfort. He knows that if he tells Even what’s going on, Even will understand him. He won’t judge. He’ll be there. 

He feels the words rise up in his throat every time Even asks if he’s okay, but every time without fail he pushes them back down. 

“Hey,” Even asks, sliding a comforting arm around Isak as he sits down next to him on the bed. “Aren’t we going on holiday this summer? We haven’t booked anything yet.”

Isak doesn’t know how to tell him that his father hasn’t given him any money this year like he said he would. He doesn’t know how to tell Even that the money he was going to give Isak for a holiday is being spent on his dad’s wedding to someone Isak has met once. Or how to tell Even that his mum and dad weren’t even divorced until a week before the ceremony, a week before his dad flew himself and his new girlfriend out to spain to get married. 

He doesn’t know how to explain how angry he is that his dad hadn’t listened to anything, hadn’t been able to see that Isak’s mum doesn’t want this - she’s told Isak, she didn’t want to get a divorce, but she’s agreed to it because it’s what Isak’s dad wants, and he’s promised to keep supporting her. Isak doesn’t know yet if that’s just another empty promise, but he has his suspicions.

Isak is so fucking angry, it feels as though he could drive his fist through the wall.

Almost as soon as he imagines doing that, a crack appears in the wall in front of him, and the memory splinters into pieces.

*

When he skips back further through memories, they’re suddenly from before it all turned to shit. Suddenly, he feels at peace, reliving the times he had with Even, he feels comfort, he feels warm.

He remembers what he and Even had, what they really had.

They’re in the sun, lying together on the grass in the park, and uni is over for the summer. 

Even rolls over onto his side to look down at Isak, laughter in his expression.

“So what are we doing this summer?” he asks. “Are the boys going to tag along on holiday with us again?”

Isak huffs, but it’s lighthearted. “They better not. This time if they ask you, you can’t be nice, okay? Just tell them to fuck off.”

Even lifts a hand, runs it through Isak’s hair as he replies. “But Magnus is so good at puppy dog eyes. And it’s fun to go places with them!”

Isak rolls his eyes, but his fond expression gives him away. “We can chill with them for the rest of the summer. But we should have a week for ourselves, right? Dad says he’ll give me some money for it again. We can go somewhere, just you and me.”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that,” grins Even, his eyes scrunched up with happiness as he leans down to kiss Isak. “So where are we going to go?”

“Mmh,” Isak hums, distracted by Even’s lips, and reaching up a hand to curl around the back of Even’s neck, fingers tangling in soft hair as he tries to pull him back down. “Somewhere,” he murmurs, remembering to answer the question.

Even just laughs. “Somewhere? Very helpful, Isak.”

Isak starts to smile, until a part of the memory breaks away, and his happiness fades. The trees above him lose their leaves, branches start to splinter away, blown by a gale that he doesn’t think was ever in this memory the first time. 

The sun goes dark. 

Even notices nothing, and stays as he is, still teasing and kissing and laughing, even though the memory is shattering behind him, forcing Isak to forget, to let go of the details.

But why would Isak let this go? It’s the last time he was truly happy. He wants this memory to stay.

He tightens his grip on Even, pulls him closer. Speaks, ignoring the path of the memory, and whatever Even had just been saying.

“Stay,” he mutters against Even’s lips. “Please? I like this memory. Stay.”

“What are you talking about, baby?” Even smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Isak closes his eyes and kisses Even.

When he reopens them, Even is gone. 

*

Further back. Even is waiting for him outside university with two cups of coffee held in gloved hands. Isak greets him with a kiss and a warm smile, and tries to duck away as Even steals more kisses.

“Let me drink my coffee in peace,” Isak pretends to grumble, and Even just laughs at him. 

He’s happy. He was happy. There was so much happiness with Even.

Making himself forget it is the worst decision he could ever make. 

In another universe he won’t forget it - or maybe, just maybe, that could be this one. Maybe there’s still time.


	2. Part 2

Isak wakes up in Even’s arms. A drowsy look around the apartment reminds him that its Christmas morning, and warmth settles into him as he burrows in closer to Even, looking up to see if he’s awake yet. 

“Morning,” Even smiles at Isak. “Happy christmas.”

Isak can barely contain the amount of peace and happiness he feels right now. It rises up in his chest as he looks at Even, his Even. 

It crashes down, too, because he’s forgetting him. 

“I love you,” he says. “Even, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Even says, misunderstanding the gravity of the situation. 

“But-“ Isak tries. “I forgot how much I love you. I’m forgetting how much.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I - I asked them to make me forget you but I don’t want that anymore and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Even says nothing, but gives Isak a saddened look.  _ Why? _ Isak imagines him saying.  _ Why would you do that?  _ And he wants to tell Even that he did it first, that in the real world, Even has already watched their love splinter away into pieces, watched Isak disappear before him, and remembered nothing of it. 

Isak doesn’t want to get to that point. He doesn’t want to never know that Even loved him, so he says nothing, he keeps his anger down. 

But he still has no idea how to stop himself forgetting, and it feels like all he can do is play along with the memory. 

They lie there a while longer, smiles soft in the dimly lit room, bodies warm under the covers, meeting cold air where their toes stick out from the bottom of the too-small duvet.

“We should probably get up,” Even says. “We have to get ready to see your parents.”

“Mmh, no,” Isak says, and then realises he can’t say the next words as he remembers them. He chokes around them, their weight filling up his mouth, not letting him speak. 

_ We should just stay like this forever _ . 

“I don’t - I don’t want to lose you, Even,” he says instead, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. “Please, please, stay. Don’t let me forget you. Don’t - don’t forget me.”

“Isak,” Even shakes his head, comforting with his touch, but lying. Isak knows he’s lying. “I could never forget you.”

_ But you can. You will. You did. _

“Okay,” Isak says quietly, trying to let himself believe Even’s words even when he knows the truth. “You won’t forget me. Okay.”

“Of course I won’t,” Even says, wiping Isak’s tears away with his thumb. “Isak, never. I would never. Don’t you believe me?”

He so desperately wants to believe him. He wants to melt into the thought of them, forever, remembering.

It’s the memory that melts instead.

*

_ Wake up wake up wake up. _

If he concentrates hard enough, hits his hand into his leg over and over, thinks enough about his bed in his apartment where he fell asleep, he can just about imagine he sees a blurred slit where his eyes would be opening.

_ Wake up. _

The room is dimly lit, the level of light that he usually notices from the bedside lamp. He’s staring at the ceiling, and he can’t move at all. If he could open his mouth or speak, maybe he could cry for help, tell them to stop.

But this is real. This is him, awake.

There are people in his room. He can make out two voices, murmuring to each other, and he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Something about a scanner. Something about a map. 

He can do this. He can get out. 

“The scanner must have jammed or something,” says the first voice. “Why isn’t it reaching the next fragment?”

“Don’t know,” replies the second. “Turn it off and on again?” he jokes. The first person laughs. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says. “Move out the way, I’ll fix it.”

He types something on the keyboard, and Isak feels himself being pulled back out of the room. 

_ No _ . He can fight this. He  _ will  _ fight this. 

Maybe not.

*

He’s pulled back into Even’s arms, still in bed, but in a different memory. It’s a cold morning, and Isak doesn’t want to get out. Even is halfway between sympathy and laughing at him. 

“I told you we shouldn’t have watched the next episode,” he says. “You need to go to school.”

“Let me  _ sleep _ ,” Isak says, burying his head under the covers, but Even just pulls the covers away from his face and kisses him, laughing. 

“I love you, but no. You need to go to school so that you can graduate and then get a good job so that I can have a rich husband.”

It’s like Isak’s chest expands with love. 

“Husband?” he asks, sticking his head out of the covers to look up at Even, who is grinning down at him.

“Only if you get out of bed.”

“But if I get out of bed you’ll marry me?”

“Mmh, maybe,” Even says. “Get out of bed and see.”

Being in and out of memories is a strange feeling. Isak feels simultaneously as though he’s there and not there, experiencing it for the first time, and over again as a memory. He knows how it goes, and he wants to find out how it goes. It hurts to remember that it ends, and it’s so incredibly good that it happened. 

Even is going to tell him they’ll get married after Isak graduates from university - but Isak has already remembered that they’ll never get that far. 

*

He wants out. He can’t live through any more of these memories just to watch them fade away in front of him.

He doesn’t want to forget Even.

And maybe - maybe Even didn’t want to forget him, either. Maybe he realised it too late, just like Isak. 

Not too late. He has to believe it’s not too late. He just needs a plan. If he can’t wake up - then he’ll have to - hide. Watch where the cracks appear in the memories, and then run the other way.

The next memory he finds himself in is already black. There are hands over his eyes, and he’s being walked forward slowly.

“Okay, just a few more steps - careful!” Even’s excited voice rings from behind him as Isak knocks his foot against a step. “Step up, sorry. Okay, ready? On three, you can open your eyes. One, two-”

Even takes his hands away. “Three.”

Isak spins around in Even’s arms immediately, only catching a glimpse of the picnic Even had set out for his birthday. This isn’t how the memory went, but that’s not important. 

“Even, we have to hide.”

“What?” He still remembers Even’s happiness in this memory. Even doesn’t seem confused or concerned - but this is just how Isak remembers him. 

“Come on,” he grabs Even’s hands and pulls him away. “We just have to hide. They can’t erase you if they can’t find you.”

“Where are we going?” Even laughs, as he allows himself to be pulled along. 

Isak leads him to the trees on the other side of the field that look dense enough to shield them from view. 

The closer they get, the more obvious it is that they aren’t. Isak’s memory is only of the front line of the trees. Any further back than that and there’s - nothing. He and Even are standing in emptiness, surrounded by dark, watching through the trees to where their picnic is set out. 

“We just have to stay here,” Isak says. “Stay here and look at me.”

Even stands before him, meets his eyes. “I’m looking at you. You’re kind of cutting off circulation to my hand, though.”

Isak doesn’t loosen his grip, just uses it to pull Even closer, and doesn’t look away. “Just stay,” he says. “Stay here forever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the memory breaking, but he doesn’t look. If he can hold onto Even for just a few more minutes, keep him here in the dark, keep them here together, he won’t forget him. 

A voice booms from above him. It’s neither in Isak’s memory or his control, but it doesn’t take him long to understand what it is.

_ “Look at this,” _ the voice echoes around them, although Even doesn’t seem to hear it.  _ “The scanner’s gone ever so slightly off the map.” _

_ “Weird,” _ a second voice joins.  _ “Why would that happen?” _

_ “Not sure. I guess it’s just a memory fragment that was missed on the first scan.” _

_ “Do you think the algorithm will catch it?” _

_ “I think we’ll just have to wait and see. If not, we can always reprogram it to go back.” _

They can do that?

“Isak, let go,” Even says. “You’re hurting my hand.”

“I can’t. I can’t. Just a few minutes, Even.”

Everything in Isak is telling him it’s useless, the doctors in his room are going to reprogram it anyway, but he has to try. Has to stop himself forgetting Even.

“Isak, please,” Even isn’t smiling anymore. He lifts his other hand to try and push Isak’s away, but Isak grabs that hand too. 

“No, Even,” he tries desperately. “Please, just trust me. Please just stay.”

“Why won’t you let go?”

Isak’s chest tightens, and his grip loosens without him meaning it to. “Even, please-“

Even pulls his hands away, takes a step backwards. 

Isak blinks and he’s gone.

*

They’re in Isak’s head. So why isn’t this under Isak’s control?

It’s new year now, their second together, and the party around them is full of people chanting, counting down, while Even and Isak can do nothing but look into each other’s eyes.

They’ve long since embraced this part of them - the part that makes everyone else around them groan when they see how in love they are. Isak moves closer, pressing his forehead to Even’s, trying to move to press their lips together.

“Midnight, baby,” Even reminds him, pulling back. “10, 9, 8-”

They don’t get to midnight. Isak surges forward with a “shut up,” when Even gets down to 5, and kisses him anyway.

It’s easy to get lost in these memories. To let himself be caught up in reliving the happiness of them all, rather than remembering that this is the last time he’ll get that. 

It catches up with him in time, though, and he pulls back from Even, to meet his eyes.

“I’m going to forget you,” he remembers. “You’ve already forgotten me.”

Even just seems confused, letting out a “huh?” and trying to pull Isak back in to kiss him more.

“No, we need a plan. I don’t want to forget you. But we can’t hide here - they’ll find you - they’ll take you away.”

“Isak, I don’t-”

“We’re in my head, Even, okay? I should be in control of this - only they’ve got a machine on me right now. They’re erasing all my memories of you and-”

Maybe that’s the way out. They’re erasing Isak’s memories with Even. If he can rewrite another memory, and include Even there instead - maybe he won’t forget him.

“We have to-” Isak breaks off. How does he get there? How does he find another memory, and which memory is going to work? He takes a deep breath. “Just - hold my hand,” he tells Even. “Hold on tight.”

“But I don’t understand-” Even says, even as he does as he’s told.

Isak shuts his eyes tight and concentrates on his childhood, willing with all his strength that he can take Even back there, even if he doesn’t want to go himself.

He opens his eyes, and he’s smaller. A lot smaller, judging by how Even towers over him now, looking down with confusion.

“Isak?” he says. “What’s going on? Why are you the size of a five year old?”

Isak huffs. “Because I  _ am _ five, Even. Or I was, at least.”

The memory is familiar, and he hates it. His breathing quickens, an innate response to what he knows is coming next.

“We have to hide,” he tells Even, tugging on his hand - and it’s not because he thinks they’ll be able to find Even here, to make him forget Even - in fact, it’s nothing to do with Even. But his mum is about to storm through that door, throwing plates and cups at his dad, and Isak will be under the table, shaking and silent throughout the whole thing. They won’t even know he’s there until his mum has locked herself away in her room and his dad is bending down to pick up the pieces of shattered glass.

Even can barely fit under the table with Isak, but the memory plays out as it should anyway, because this is how Isak remembers it, and how he’s rewriting it, sitting on Even’s lap, warm and safe, covering his ears, but this time he gets to look at Even, instead of closing his eyes.

He buries his head in Even’s chest, and although the size is wrong, the smell is right, the warmth is right. 

“You make this memory safe,” he tells Even. “Can you stay here?”

“Of course,” Even replies, wrapping his arms around Isak, holding him tight. “As long as you need me.”

Isak’s about to tell him  _ forever _ , but then he hears that disembodied voice again, the one he knows belongs to the doctor in his room, and he realises his plan hasn’t worked.

“ _ This part wasn’t lighting up on the scan yesterday _ ,” says the doctor. “ _ He’s not meant to be in that part of his mind right now _ .”

“ _ Well, why is he, then? Did he miss a memory yesterday? _ ”

“ _ Must have done. It’s not too difficult to rewrite the algorithm to erase that part too, though _ .”

“No,” Isak murmurs. “No, they can’t. They weren’t supposed to know - they weren’t supposed to find us. How did they find us?”

“What?” Even says, and Isak knows he can’t hear what Isak can, but he can’t bring himself to explain it either. “Isak, it’s okay. It’s just a memory. I’m here. I’m keeping you safe,”

“We’re not safe,” Isak says. “We’re not - we’re not - Even, stay. Please, stay.”

Even brushes a hand through Isak’s hair. “I’m right here, Isak. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets Isak cry into his shirt, even as the sound of smashing plates dissolves into the noise of walls crumbling around them. Isak forms tight fists in Even’s shirt, trying to hold him there, but soon enough, his hands close around nothing, and the world goes black.

*

He’s in his head. If he could just wake himself up, maybe he could put a stop to this.

It’s like running through treacle, or running through a dream. Fighting to swim to the surface of his head, away from the memories grasping at his ankles and trying to pull him back in. He’s almost there, almost there, he can feel how close he’s getting.

A door slams, and then - Jonas? Why can he hear Jonas?

“You have to stop this,” Jonas sounds out of breath. “Please say I’m not too late, Isak doesn’t want this.”

Isak isn’t in his head any more. Jonas has come to get him out. He could cry with happiness.

“Do you have a direct relation to Mr Valtersen?” asks the doctor, and Isak’s heart sinks back down.

“No - but - I’m his best friend! He doesn’t want this!”

“I’m afraid he does. He’s signed the consent forms. We can only withdraw him from the procedure if you can provide proof that he can’t be trusted to make his own decisions, or if you can find an immediate family member of sound mind to withdraw him from the procedure.”

_ No!  _ Isak tries to yell.  _ Listen to him! I don’t want this! _

“He’s regaining consciousness,” says the other doctor. “That should be - how is he doing that?” 

“Just give him more anaesthetic,” comes the reply, and Isak wants to fight, he tries his hardest to wake up faster, to move his body. To put an end to this.

“Can’t you see he’s waking up because he wants this to end!” Jonas says urgently. “Stop the fucking procedure or I swear I-”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We can’t have any distractions during the procedure. If you can return with his father within an hour, we can reconsider.”

_ No… no,  _ Isak says in his mind. _ Dad won’t do fuck all for me. Please make it stop. Please… Make it… Please. _

He fades back out of the room before he can make them listen to him.

*

It’s as if someone’s holding his head underwater, forcing him to watch through the rest of his memories without being able to stop it. Watching every time as he lives through the happiest parts of his life, then watching it crumble before him.

It seems to be going faster now that he can’t stop it. Cycling back from christmas, to all the “two years since…” that Even made them celebrate, back to Isak’s first day of uni, last day of school. All the small, quiet, private moments between them, of lying under covers, noses pressed together, bodies pressed together, lips and hands and thighs. The moments of cooking together, squashed in their tiny kitchen with wide smiles and teasing glances, every time Even would coax Isak to take a bite of what they were making, holding a fork close to his lips because he wanted to feed him, wanted to take care of him.

And Isak would take care of Even right back, in ways that never felt as big, but Even assured him that they were never any less important. Ways that involved Isak getting the washing from the machine when Even would forget, kissing life back into him on bad days, holding him close on worse days.

Why does this have to be the end?

He watches it cycle back further still, past their first year anniversaries, past their easy comfort in each other, past Even starting uni.

Past their trip to Morocco, their first holiday together. Past moving in together. Their first new year. First Christmas. 

He can finally breathe again in the memory that he doesn’t want to lose most of all. 

_ Dear Isak. Right now I’m sitting where we met for the first time and I’m thinking about you. Soon it’ll be 21:21. I want to tell you a thousand things. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for not telling you I’m bipolar. I was scared of losing you. I had forgotten that it’s not possible to lose anyone, that all humans are alone anyways. Another place in the universe we’re together in infinite time, remember that. Love you. Even _

After all this time, he still knows the words of the text off by heart. He still remembers the song being sung when he left the church. He knows the exact route he took from the church to the school.

It’s not falling apart yet. Isak’s there, at their bench, heart falling in his chest at the thought of being too late, and then - there he is. 

Walking out of the school, looking for all the world as if the world has crashed around him already.

It hasn’t yet, but Isak knows it’s about to. Any time now. 

He takes the first shaky step towards Even. Another, then another, and then the condensation of their breath is mixing in the space between them.

He’s here. He’s alive.

Isak’s about to forget him.

He remembers the tentative way he had reached out to Even, simply letting his cheeks brush against him, anticipating being pushed away, needing to comfort Even with his touch. 

This time, he grabs Even’s hand, and they run inside. 

Isak’s never going to forget the inside of Nissen, so it’s no surprise that the whole building remains there, intact, exactly as it should be. He pulls Even inside, frantically searching for somewhere to hide, and pulls Even inside an empty classroom. 

“This isn’t going to work, Isak,” Even says, and Isak’s heart drops. “You know it’s too late. You’re going to forget me.”

Isak turns to face him, feeling tears at the corners of his eyes. 

“I - I know. I just - I just want to savour the time with you.”

He takes a deep breath and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Even and pulling him close. 

“I love you, Even Bech Næsheim. In another universe we’ll both remember that.”

He closes his eyes as he sees the walls crack and crumble around them. 

“You’re not alone,” he whispers, but Even has already gone. 

*

There aren’t many memories left now, and Isak has no strength to fight them off or change them. He simply watches. 

The hotel suite blinds him with how white it is. The glass in the elevator shatters in front of him. Kaffebrenneriet crumbles around him as Even tries to draw a heart on the window.

He sees Even meeting his friends, but can’t hear over the sound of the staircase breaking into pieces in front of him. He stumbles into a black hole when Even waits for him outside school. 

Everything, everything, everything breaks apart. Their FIFA tournament. Even making him dance to crappy pop songs. Even showing up at his door without words, but with a kiss to heal them both. 

The drawings smudge and fade. Emma’s party falls apart. The smoke from Even’s joint fills the room and blurs Isak’s vision.

They drown in the swimming pool, even after Isak thinks he’s taken his first breath by kissing Even.

*

The last memory - the first memory - is the hardest to let go of, and the easiest to forget.

Isak glances up from his phone at the sound of a laugh, a life changing laugh, and catches  _ his _ eye.

Isak doesn’t know who  _ he _ is anymore. Something in him yearns, but he’s slipping out of consciousness before he can spare much thought for it.

It’s a cold Friday morning when Isak wakes up with a headache, and no recollection of the night before. 

*

**December 10th, 2019**

“Are you  _ sure _ you know how to make pancakes?” Even teases the next morning. He reaches out to take the pan from Isak, who bats him away. 

“Yes, I’m sure, Even,” he replies, pretending to be offended while his insides turn to jelly at Even’s touch and his smile.

“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like it,” Even laughs as Isak spills the batter on the counter.

“ _ Shit,” _ Isak curses, and Even throws his head back laughing. “Well i’m glad one of us finds this funny,” he glares at Even. “You do know it’s all your fault?” he says, crossing his arms. 

“My fault? How?”

“You’re too distracting,” Isak says, biting down a grin. 

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

“Yeah, that’s how it is.”

Even’s smile turns devious. “You know, I can be more distracting,” he says, and he sneaks his hand round Isak’s waist, pulling him in close, Isak’s back pressed along Even’s chest. “I can be a lot more distracting,” he murmurs into Isak’s ear, making him shiver. 

It takes a second for Isak to come back to himself. 

“You were the one that was only staying for the pancakes,” Isak replies. “But by all means, continue with what you’re doing. Your loss.”

“I don’t think this counts as a loss,” Even smiles as he presses his lips to Isak’s neck. 

*

**December 13th, 2019**

Isak can’t contain how he feels about Even, his excitement at finding someone who makes him feel so warm after so long feeling cold. When he meets Jonas the next day for coffee, it’s only a few minutes before he’s mentioned it. 

“You met someone?” Jonas says, happier than Isak’s seen him in a while. “Tell me about him.”

Isak can’t help but smile just from thinking about Even. 

“We met on Monday,” Isak says. “I was - well, funny story, actually, I was at Nissen-“

“You were at Nissen?” Jonas interrupts. “What? Why?”

“I - actually don’t know,” Isak says, wishing he could have just told the story without that part. “Anyway, I was just, uh, sitting on the bench and this guy comes up to me and asks if I want to smoke. Says he used to attend there too, but I’ve never seen him before. We just sort of hit it off and got to talking, and, I don’t know, I just sort of feel like we-“

“What’s his name?” Jonas asks quietly. “Isak, you didn’t tell me his name.”

“Didn’t I?”

Jonas shakes his head. 

“Oh.”  _ Weird _ . “He’s called Even.”

Jonas doesn’t reply, but Isak is too caught up in thoughts of Even to care.

“Anyway, I’ve only known him four days,” Isak says, realising that it feels like longer. “But there’s something about him, you know?”

Still no response. Isak keeps talking to cover the silence. 

“Like how you always used to say you felt around Eva. How you just knew there was something there, even when you were with Ingrid.”

“It’s not the same,” Jonas says. 

“Well, I know that. I’m not cheating on anyone, and neither is he.”

More silence. 

“Oh, come on, it’s not my fault you cheated on Ingrid, Jonas.”

Nothing. 

“Do you think he is cheating on someone? Do you know him?”

“Isak, stop,” Jonas says. 

“Why? What’s - you asked about him! Why ask if you don’t want to know?”

“I just remembered I have to be somewhere,” Jonas says, pushing his chair out and standing. “Sorry. Talk to you later.”

Isak hasn’t ever seen Jonas like this before. But he’ll leave Jonas some time to get over whatever it is. Surely Jonas will be happy for him, he must just be having a bad day, but he’ll tell Isak what’s wrong when he’s ready. 

Still, the strangeness of the situation settles on Isak like a stormcloud.

*

**December 16th, 2019**

_ “An illegal brain damaging service has been exposed today as “Lacuna, Inc.” is shut down. The company had been operating using illegal technology and preying on clients who wished to forget something. They offered to help clients move on from painful relationships and to forget traumatic events that could be detrimental to the normal continuation of their life. Multiple private therapists have also been connected with this scandal, some going so far as to refer their patients to the service, which operated underground and found its clients through word of mouth. In light of this exposure, clients’ personal files and belongings are being returned to them, a move that one doctor has warned will cause confusion and could harm relationships further.” _

Isak watches the news with passive interest, safe in the knowledge that he has never, he  _ would _ never use that service. 

And then he gets a yellow envelope through the post from Lacuna, Inc.

Or, in fact, he gets two. One addressed to him, and one to Even Bech Naesheim.

It falls into place so clearly that his whole world falls with it.

But then, maybe he’s wrong. Maybe this is a product of an overactive imagination. Overthinking. Jonas acting weird. Maybe it’s nothing. 

**To Even:** _hey, kind of a weird question, but what’s your last name?_

**From Even:** _ its bech naesheim, why? _

_ i promise you i wasn’t lying when i said i don’t have facebook _

**To Even:** _haha_

_ can you come over? _

**From Even:** _  I’m on my way :D _

_ is it too soon to say i can’t wait to see you? _

_ Yeah _ , Isak thinks.  _ It might be. _

Nevertheless, Even arrives, barely half an hour later as if he had been waiting for Isak to invite him. He greets Isak with a kiss and Isak greets him with the letters. 

“I haven’t opened it - either of them,” he tells him, as Even’s face turns into one of confusion, laced with awful understanding. “But you’ve heard the news, right?”

“I’ve heard it,” Even says. “But maybe - maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe I just used to live here.”

“Do you remember it? Living here?” Isak asks. 

“I-” Isak knows he wants to say yes “The third tile in from the kitchen door is cracked, and there’s a creaky floorboard under that chair. The heating barely ever works properly and the sink makes a horrible noise when you turn on the hot tap.”

“Doesn’t mean you lived here  _ before  _ me,” Isak replies. “Or - or without me.”

“Can I just - can we open it? Maybe we - we could-”

Isak sighs, and closes his eyes before he says the next words. “Face it, Even. We erased each other.”

“You don’t know that - you don’t know that.” Even replies, breathing coming quicker now and voice more frantic. “Please, I don’t - I wouldn’t - you’re too good-”

Isak’s resolve crumbles. “Even-”

“I haven’t felt anything like this,” Even says, meeting Isak’s eyes finally so that Isak can see the desperation there. “Ever. Please, Isak, just-”

“You have to open it.”

Even exhales roughly. “So do you, then.”

Isak’s hands start to tremble.

“We should sit down,” he says, moving towards the small table. Even follows, sits in the chair opposite him, and Isak feels a pang of familiarity.

He holds the envelope in front of him, staring down at his name and address, almost getting motion sickness from the violent way his hands are still shaking.

On the edge of his vision, he sees Even reach out, then pull his hand back, then reach out again.

“I-” Even tries. “Can I?”

The nod Isak gives is infinitesimal, but Even notices it, and grips Isak’s hand tight in his own. It’s the strength Isak needs to explain himself.

“A week and a half ago,” Isak says, instead of opening the letter. “I woke up and I didn’t remember the night before. I texted Jonas and he - he came round, telling me all sorts of things I didn’t understand.”

Even says nothing, but one glance up tells Isak that he’s listening, watching Isak carefully. Isak doesn’t have it in him to hold eye contact, and looks back down.

“He said ‘why did you have to do this? Just because  _ he  _ did?’” Isak can barely choke out the words in more than a whisper. “I didn’t know who ‘he’ was.”

“Isak, I-”

“Tell me I’m wrong about this, Even,” Isak begs. “Tell me you don’t know what’s going on here.”

Even hangs his head.

Isak forces his chair back, scraping against the wood floor and stands, throwing the envelope down. “I don’t want to open the fucking letter,” he cries, turning to the wall and curling his hand up into a fist that he raises, ready to punch something. His hand falls as he sees the marks left by ripped down posters.

“This was you, too,” he says, voice flat now. “Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Even replies, but when Isak turns to him, the letter is open, and out falls a USB flash drive, and a card. 

The card is a list of Even’s details. Full name, mobile number, home address. There are two listed, one of them Isak’s apartment, the other familiar still, but Isak doesn’t know why. The list continues with medical history, and the words  _ bipolar disorder _ trigger a memory that must have been missed.

_ “Who’s bipolar? My mum’s also bipolar,” Magnus says, and they’re in school, in the cafeteria, and Isak feels like he’s being weighed down with bricks. _

_ “You’ve got a crazy mum?” he asks. _

_ “She’s not crazy, she’s bipolar.” _

_ “Yeah but - how is she?” _

_ “She’s - you’ve met her, haven’t you?” _

_ “I - yeah, I have - but she’s completely normal.” _

_ “Yes, she’s completely normal. She’s just, you know, there are periods when she’s depressed or stoked. Who are you guys talking about?” _

_ “Uh, Even.”  _ Even. He was talking about Even. _ “He’s also bipolar. He went outside naked in the middle of the night.” _

_ “Seriously? That’s hilarious!” _

_ “It’s not funny.” _

_ “It’s comical though. You know what my mum did once? She was so pissed at NSB so she found out who the regional director was and then she sent a letter of resignation in his name. it was like ‘i give up. I can’t work anymore, bye.’” Magnus and Jonas both laugh, before Magnus turns back to Isak. “But like, where’s Even now, though?” _

_ “At home, I guess.” Isak wants to go home. He wants to curl up in a ball and hide away. _

_ “Yeah, not physically, but like, in his head? Is he stoked or is he depressed?” _

_ “I haven’t talked to him.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “Well, because, everything’s been bullshit on his part.”  _ Isak remembers the heartbreak that comes with these words, but this can’t have been where it ended for good. There’s too much of his life afterwards missing for that to be it.

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “You know, he’s been manic.” _

_ “You’ve been with him for quite some time, he hasn’t been manic the whole time. Like when my mum is manic then its like I can’t get in contact with her. You’ve had lots of contact with Even.” _

_ “Yeah, but Sonja said he’s been manic the entire time.” _

“Who’s Sonja?” Isak asks, where Magnus’s voice should sound around those words. 

Even glances up sharply. “My ex,” he says. “How do you-“

“She told me you didn’t have feelings for me. That you were manic.”

“When?”

“I - my second year at Nissen. It’s the only thing I remember about you.”

Even bites his lip, and after a moment of hesitation, he speaks. “When I broke up with her she said ‘what will happen when he finds out?’”

“Me?”

“I think so.”

“Fuck.”

Even picks up the USB. “Do you have - can I borrow your laptop?”

There are three files on the USB. The first is entitled “Even-Bech-Næsheim-Map” and it’s in a format that Isak’s computer can’t read. The second is a list of items. 

_ map-point-1 - shirt - grey, Notorious B.I.G design _ __   
_ map-point-2 - sketch - subject’s profile _ __   
_ map-point-3 - photograph - Even Bech Næsheim and subject _ __   
_ map-point-4 - hat - snapback, NY design _ __   
_ map-point-5 - badge - pink yellow and blue stripes _ _   
_ __ map-point-6 - pressed flower - dandelion

The list continues far past where Isak can bring himself to read. 

The last file is an mp3 file. Isak watches Even hesitate as he clicks it, and turns the sound down on the laptop as low as it will go, but so they can still hear it.

_ “I want to forget Isak Valtersen,” _ Even’s recorded voice comes through the speakers,  _ “because I’m tired of being reminded that two relationships have ended because of my fucked up brain.” _

_ “Two?” _

Isak can hear an angry huff. _ “Yeah,” _ Even spits.  _ “Two. First Sonja, now Isak.” _

_ “So why forget him?” _ comes the reply.  _ “Why not her?” _

There’s silence for a moment, the recording playing with no sound.

_ “Because it still fucking hurts to see him.” _

More silence. 

_ “Because,” _ Even is quieter this time, almost inaudible.  _ “I’m tired of wishing we could work things out, when we both know we can’t. We both know he was tired of having to deal with me.” _

“Even, I don’t-“ Isak tries to speak over the rest of the recording but Even cuts him off. 

“Are you sure it was Sonja that convinced you I didn’t have feelings for you?” he sounds detached, as if he’s practiced distancing himself from this conversation. “Not just yourself?”

“Even, I - I promise-“ Isak tries. “My mum, she’s - I wouldn’t just give up on someone because of their mental illness, I-“

And then it hits him. More memories flooding at him. 

“I gave up on her,” he says, mouth dry. 

“What?”

“In first year, I- I wouldn’t have known you,” he remembers it too clearly for that. “I moved out so that I didn’t have to - but sometime in second year I - we reconnected. I don’t - “ he trails off, and it makes sense again. “You helped me reconnect with her. You must have done.”

“Then why did you give up on me?” Even asks, as if he doesn’t believe Isak. 

“I don’t - I didn’t - I wouldn’t -“

“But you did.”

“We don’t know what happened, Even,” Isak pleads. “This was - the thing with Sonja was a long time before it ended. I - there’s  _ three years _ missing in my head after that.”

“Well, somewhere in those three years you must’ve decided you were better off without mentally ill people around you.”

“Even, stop,” Isak takes a step back. “Just - stop. Please.”

Even lets out an angry breath, and turns away from Isak, who paces the room, with no idea where to go from here, how to recover from this. Does he want Even to leave? He’s not sure anymore. Maybe this whole thing is his fault, but then, maybe that makes it his responsibility to make it right. And maybe it’s not his fault. Maybe he wants to make it right anyway.

“Can we-” he turns back to Even, to find him standing, pulling the USB from the laptop and making to go to the door. “Even, wait.”

Even stops where he is. “Wait for what, Isak? For it all to go to shit again?”

“No-”

“I’m not worth the trouble, Isak. Do you really want to have to learn that lesson again?”

Isak is floored by his words, by how convinced Even is - by how wrong he is. It almost leaves him with no response, until he’s kickstarted into action by Even moving to the door.

“You are worth the trouble,” he finds his voice, hoarse with emotion. “Let me show you that you are.”

Even turns back, and takes a shaky breath. “You don’t know that I am. You’ll get sick of it, having to be there for me when things get bad. And I’ll get sick of you controlling me. It’s not worth it.”

“Three years,” says Isak, and his voice is stronger now, because he knows what he’s saying. He takes a step towards Even, reaches out to him, hesitating as Even flinches from his touch, but then allows him to cup his face, even leaning into it, and closing his eyes. “It can’t have all been bad.”

“But some of it was,” Even replies, voice quiet now, but in the silence around them, Isak hears it like a shout. “We fucked up enough to make us both want to forget everything.”

“Maybe we just need to try again. We could do better this time.”

“How can we do better when we don’t remember what went wrong last time? You can’t learn from mistakes you don’t remember making.”

Even pulls away slightly, and isak lets his hands drop to his side, searching desperately for the right thing to say.

“I think letting you go would be a mistake,” he says and Even looks up in surprise.

“You do?”

Isak nods. “Do you?”

Even doesn’t answer, but the small smile on his face is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!!!  
> [here i am on tumbz](http://evenshands.tumblr.com)  
> love always xxx


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